Stealing Courage

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. ― Lao Tzu”

I used to identify the word courage with images of soldiers charging onto the battlefield or astronauts launching into the deepest unknown of space. I romanticized the word to be an attribute of heroes; of explorers and pioneers that found new worlds. Courage was a word reserved for voyagers crossing the ocean or for airplane pilots testing the outer limits of their equipment’s capabilities. Courage was not something I needed for my every day, “normal” life. I certainly didn’t need to be courageous in the small town of Marietta, Ohio. Until now.

Hazel has had a great week. Her blood counts were up at our last visit and she has pretty much cleared all of the high power steroids from her system so that means fewer mood swings and back to normal eating habits. It also means that some of the strength she had originally lost in her leg muscles is returning, which allows her to walk freely around the house, playing with toys and interacting with her siblings. The general mood in my household has been one of happiness, contentment, and dare I say, joy. It almost seems normal.

And yet, there is always the unstated understanding that things aren’t normal. We still dose Hazel with up to six types of medicine 2-3 times per day, some of which we are not even allowed to touch without wearing gloves. The chemo drugs Hazel is currently on tighten her calf muscles and tendons, which makes it difficult for her to balance and near impossible for her to squat down. She has lost all but a tuft of her beautiful red hair and the doctors want us to be prepared for even that to fall out shortly. Things are anything but normal really, but we charge on, soaking up every giggle, every smile, every happy moment we can find.

Living with cancer can make you feel a range of emotions every single day and sometimes all within a single minute. As Hazel toddles around our living room, happily playing with dolls, coloring books, and playdough, it’s easy to allow myself to feel like nothing is wrong; like Hazel battled this disease and won and now it is smooth sailing. But deep in the recesses of my mind I know that we still have a long road ahead. I know that she still will be receiving several rounds of chemo over the next several months that will beat her immune system back down. I know her counts will drop, more side effects will come, and there will be days that are once again filled with sadness.

My heart aches thinking about those days; I yearn for an answer for my baby girl that does not include more pain, more surgical procedures, and more hospital visits. Logically, I can justify all that is happening right now because I know it is saving her life, but my heart breaks knowing that she is being robbed of precious moments of childhood that she will never get back; innocence that she will never recover.

Our future is an unknown. There is no telling how Hazel will continue to respond or what side effects she will experience. I cannot tell you with certainty what tomorrow looks like, let alone two, five, or ten years into the future. That crushes me. I am brought to my knees in anguish every day by new ways this disease has touched our life and my family. Cancer is sneaky. Insidious in ways you would never imagine.  It winds its way into every aspect of your life like a tree root looking for water, snaking through even the smallest crack in the foundation that you felt was so strong before.

And that’s how it breaks you. Slowly, over time, patiently tearing away at all you hold dear, all that is close to you. Every time you think that you have closed up a crack, a new one somewhere else in your life opens up. It feels like all you can do is try to keep your head above water some days. Other days you are happy, but then you wonder, should you REALLY be happy? What are you forgetting? What new crack has opened up?

Cancer is awful and I hate. I hate it so much for what it has done to my family. Cancer burdens my heart like nothing I have ever experienced. I lay awake at night wondering what life will look like after this. What will my children’s lives be like? How has this affected them mentally, emotionally? What about our own parents, our own siblings? What is our struggle doing to them? How many years has this pain taken off of my own life? Elizabeth’s life? And then I think of Hazel…oh, Hazel. I no longer cry over Hazel’s experience, I weep. To weep is a more powerful, deeper experience than to simply “cry”. To weep is to mourn, to feel every aspect of sorrow as the tears fall from your face. It is to sob, tremble, and exude the emotion that your mind is incapable of comprehending at the time.

Cancer has stolen many things from me, but I will fight back. I will take from cancer too. One thing I have taken from cancer is courage. I know now that I live with a band of heroes. We all suffer in our own ways, we all fear what is unknown, but we press on. That is courage. Courage is continuing to do what you must, even if the circumstances are horrible. Courage is not being terrified by the odds because they don’t matter anyway. What matters is what is right in front of you.

Courage is not only found on the battlefield or in deep space. Courage is everywhere that I am. It surrounds me. I see it every day. It is within the four walls of my home as we wake each morning, pack lunches, and head for the school drop off line. Courage is my children explaining to friends that they can’t have visitors because Hazel’s immune system can’t even fight off the common cold. Courage is my wife, lovingly holding my little redheaded daughter each time they access her port, each time they take blood, and each time she is put under anesthesia for yet another procedure. Courage is watching cousins playing together as if nothing is different. Courage is having grandparents that are there every step of this journey, comforting, loving, suffering alongside us.

I can’t tell you what is next for my family. I truly don’t know. There are problems every day that come up that we were not prepared for, but we manage. We manage and we thrive. With each positive report, each giggle, each smile, our courage grows. We stand together, shoulder to shoulder, as much holding one another up as forming a wall of protection around Hazel. Some day we may be able to let our guard down, but for now, we remain, Hazel’s courageous few.

“…Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” – Joshua 1:9